


Tequila and Limelight

by robocryptid



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Alcohol, Blackmail, Drinking Games, Drunkenness, Explicit Sexual Content, Hacking, Invasion of Privacy, M/M, Sex Tapes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-07
Updated: 2020-04-07
Packaged: 2021-03-02 00:07:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,028
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23535766
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/robocryptid/pseuds/robocryptid
Summary: Lúcio likes to record, which has its risks even when you’re not an international megastar. Luckily, Baptiste has a friend who can take care of their privacy issues.
Relationships: Jean-Baptiste Augustin/Genji Shimada, Jean-Baptiste Augustin/Lúcio Correia dos Santos, Jean-Baptiste Augustin/Lúcio Correia dos Santos/Genji Shimada, Lúcio Correia dos Santos/Genji Shimada
Comments: 5
Kudos: 66





	Tequila and Limelight

**Author's Note:**

  * For [bloomingcnidarians](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bloomingcnidarians/gifts).



> Written for blooming, who gave me prompts like "Lúcio likes to film" and "Lúcio and Genji meet Baptiste's BFF" and I somehow managed to shove them into the same fic.

#

Lúcio had his eyes closed in pure bliss, cheeks flushed with desire and lips stretched wide around a thick cock. Another speared into him from behind, metal fingers squeezing hard into the meat of his ass, using the grip to spread him wider, to get just that little bit deeper. He did his best with the cock in his mouth, but he could admit it was sloppy; every time the one behind him hit just right, he’d get all clumsy, forehead lolling against the tight abs in front of him. Once he sputtered, and a huge hand stroked his cheek, followed by gentle words that he didn’t understand and a fond laugh that he did. 

Their rhythm was perfect though, in sync like they had practiced this. It was only Lúcio who couldn’t keep up, but even that made it better somehow. He could have been a rag doll between them, and they’d still find a way to make it good. It was a shame he couldn’t see their faces, though. 

His own face was in extreme close-up, the angle just enough to catch sight of Genji’s pale stomach and metal arms over the curve of Lúcio’s ass. Baptiste was nothing but a pretty dick and a smooth voice, sometimes a hand that entered the frame to stroke Lúcio’s cheek or hair or his own cock. Lúcio wished he could have gotten wider shots, maybe set it up to get the whole scene, but it was dicey enough that he’d recorded it at all. He couldn’t risk a better shot of his face. Maybe it was paranoia, but even encrypted and with the files tucked into several layers of innocuously-named, password-protected folders, he couldn’t take the chance that someone would find these and recognize his face. 

Besides, the angles might have been kind of rough, but it was still hot as hell, both back when it had happened and right now. With both Baptiste and Genji on assignment, he only had his hand for company, but his spank bank was full of photos and videos like these. 

He scrolled through the photos that followed: a shot of Baptiste from the neck down, shirt rucked up and cock in his fist; Genji’s hair and forehead, so little showing that even the scars were hard to make out, the rest of his face buried in Baptiste’s ass; Lúcio’s hand splayed along the dip of Genji’s lower back, and just below that a translucent splash of come, Lúcio’s softening cock just visible where it rested on Genji’s ass cheek; enormous hands practically swallowing Lúcio’s waist as Baptiste bounced him on his cock. 

After that was another video, this time of a blowjob so spectacular that his memory was as clear as any recording. But the visual did add something extra, even if it was mostly just the back of Baptiste’s head moving slowly between Lúcio’s thighs. Here in the present, he took a long, deliberate breath and finally reached past the elastic waistband of his shorts to grip himself. 

He clicked on the next video, and the back of his neck prickled. There was a figure, sitting in the dark with their face blurred, and Lúcio _definitely_ didn’t take this video himself. 

“Naughty, naughty,” said the voice, distorted by some kind of modulator. “How much do you think a tabloid will pay for something like this? I know what you’re probably thinking: your face is cropped out! But we both know that won’t stop your fans. There’s enough there for them to _believe_. And what a headache that would be, right?”

The person droned on for a few minutes. Lúcio could only make sense of half of it, the rest of his limited attention devoted to the panicked buzz in his brain. But it was obvious enough what they wanted: money, lots of it, in exchange for _not_ releasing everything to the public. 

He thought about his mom, about everyone back home. He was an adult, but God, there was a big difference between their knowing in a vague sense that he probably had sex and their knowing very specifically what kind he had and that it was publicly available information. 

If it was just him and some strangers, some simple fling, he could probably weather the publicity. It was humiliating, and the PR would be a nightmare for a few weeks at minimum, but he was an adult and hardly the first celebrity with a sex tape. His publicist would probably put some spin on it to fit it back into his messaging, some bullshit about love transcending borders and crossing the human-omnic divide. It was nauseating to have to consider either his relationship or his ideals in that cynical, commercial light, but he would live. It would blow over. 

But they weren’t strangers. It wasn’t a fling. This was long-term — he hoped — serious stuff that meant the moment they ended up in the public eye, neither of them would be able to leave it again easily. Baptiste probably wouldn’t care about the world seeing his sex tape. Or he’d care, but he would care for Lúcio and Genji’s sake and because it was _wrong,_ not because he particularly gave a damn about who knew what he got up to in the bedroom. Genji, though… He would hate it. He was barely interested in showing his face to friends, and this was his whole body on display to a public he did his best to avoid. He was nervous enough about Lúcio being so visible, and how that might make _him_ visible, and this was almost the worst case scenario: not only shoved into the spotlight without his consent, but open to longer term scrutiny into his private affairs. And if his name got out, what remained of his _family_ would know. And for that matter, if anyone traced Baptiste back to Lúcio, it wouldn’t be a question of shame, but of safety from Talon. 

Even if he paid, that was no guarantee this person wouldn’t come back for more later. “Shit. Shit shit _shit_.” Even once his mouth stopped moving, the litany repeated in his head, crowding his mind until it was hard to think straight.

Whatever the decision was, it wasn’t one he could make on his own. He fidgeted with his phone for a moment, then he thought better of that and sent a message over his comm device instead, trusting Athena to keep this more secure. _Can you call me? Alone?_

The call was nearly instant, and as anxious as he was, hearing Baptiste’s voice soothed his ragged nerves. 

Lúcio asked, “Is it just you?”

“Of course.” He could hear the smile in Baptiste’s voice. “Are we keeping secrets now?”

“No, it’s not a secret, I just— Look, something happened. You both need to know, but I think it’s gonna freak Genji out, so I’d rather tell him after we have a plan.”

“What is there to fix?” Baptiste’s voice hardened with determination, none of the playfulness left. 

“Someone found our, uh, home videos?” Lúcio winced at the uncertainty in his own voice. Then he took a deep breath to steady himself, and he explained the whole situation. “I’m so sorry. It was so stupid of me—”

“Hey now,” Baptiste said gently. “Nobody plans for something like this.” 

Lúcio wasn’t sure what to say to that, but it did start to uncoil the knot in his stomach. “So you’re not mad?”

“At you? No.” He sighed into the receiver, mouth too close now. There was a rustling sound as he did… something. 

“Do you have an idea about what to do?”

“Actually, I do. Give me juuuust a— Hah! I knew it. Slave to technology.” There was another rustling sound. “If you give this person what they want, there are no guarantees they won’t release it all anyway. And they might come back for more money later, yeah? I say cut them off at the knees. What’s the best way to stop a hacker?”

“I… don’t know.”

“Get a better hacker.”

* * *

All things considered, telling Genji went over better than expected. He absolutely freaked out, and he pretended not to, but if he was mad, it wasn’t at Lúcio. 

Lúcio was given a week to think it over. It gave them time to regroup before they went to visit Baptiste’s friend. 

Lúcio had bounced all over Latin America when he’d first started his music career, so he had been to Mexico a dozen times, but never to Dorado. There was usually something exciting about going somewhere new, but this time, he couldn’t escape the reason that they were here. The sun was slowly setting, and it felt like every lengthening shadow was going to jump out and grab him. 

A breeze swept in off the bay, briny and only marginally cooler than the sweltering heat. Genji seemed to be suffering the worst in his armor. He could be easily distracted. He seemed pretty taken with the place, but that may have had something to do with how empty this area seemed to be.

Baptiste led, walking with purpose. Lúcio wondered if he had been here before; for all his openness, there were some things Baptiste simply did not talk about. He hugged a large bag close to his body. It carried the hacker’s payment, but much like he didn’t know who they were visiting, Lúcio didn’t know what they took in payment. Baptiste had only said it wasn’t money, which was sort of worrisome since if it had been, Lúcio could more than afford it. Not-money sounded way more suspicious.

Nothing grew less suspicious or less worrisome. The longer they walked, the emptier their surroundings became. Neon Los Muertos tags grew more frequent, until Lúcio was sure they had to have crossed into the gang’s — okay, if someone was going to nitpick, the freedom-fighters-with-very-gang-like-behavior’s — territory. He swore he could feel eyes on them, but he couldn’t tell if it was real or only the paranoia brought on by the blackmailer. 

The graffiti grew suddenly dense, and finally Baptiste drew to a stop. He squinted at the walls as if they held some clue, then he picked a door and knocked. Whatever Lúcio thought he was expecting, it wasn’t the small, shockingly pretty woman who answered. She had purple hair where it wasn’t shaved for the cybernetics grafted to her head, and that at least was less unexpected. Lúcio had met plenty of people in his music scene with similar aesthetics.

She took one look at Baptiste, grinned, then punched him in the arm. “If I knew all it took was a little blackmail to get you to visit, I would have done it myself.”

Lúcio winced, but Baptiste laughed. “I missed you too.” Then he yanked her into a hug, huge arms practically swallowing her — but not so much that Lúcio missed her grimace. Not a hugger, then. 

She humored Baptiste for a moment longer, then she squirmed free. “Alright, dude, let’s get you all inside.” She opened the door wider, and gestured widely to a cramped apartment. There were no lights on but those emitted from an impressive array of monitors and holoscreens. The room was otherwise a dark, dreary place, with little else but an empty floor, a table, and a mattress in the corner. 

“This is… nice,” Lúcio said.

She snorted. “It doesn’t matter if it’s nice. It works.” Baptiste cleared his throat. “But that was nice of you to say,” she added with a sigh and a strained smile. It was sort of funny, Lúcio decided; she didn’t seem like she was trying to be rude. More like she didn’t really do small talk, at least not with strangers. Genji could get that way sometimes too. “You have my payment?” she asked Baptiste.

“You know it.” He set the black bag down on the floor, then he crouched down to open it. Lúcio hadn’t realized until now that it was insulated, filled with several freeze packs. Baptiste moved aside to let her investigate, and she pulled a tall bottle free. It was Cola Couronne, bright orange liquid sloshing inside the glass. The whole bag was full of them.

“We’re paying her in soda?” Genji asked.

“Do you know how long it’s been since I had one of these? And cold?” She gave a delighted laugh, then she felt around the table, scattering empty aluminum cans in her search. She eventually produced a bottle opener, then she took a long drink.

“Everyone pays something,” Baptiste said with a shrug. “Sometimes it’s soda.”

“For some friends, maybe information. Maybe a few million credits. For _Baptiste,_ it’s soda,” she corrected fondly, patting him on the shoulder as she shuffled past to transfer the other bottles into a minifridge that looked like it had seen better days. A lot of better days. A very long time ago. Lúcio wasn’t totally sure she wasn’t scamming them and probably lying about the whole ‘million credits’ thing. But the tech was all bleeding edge, some of it stuff even Lúcio hadn’t seen before, so maybe that was where all the money went.

When she was finished, she plopped into the chair at her desk, and she gestured for them to sit. There were only two chairs, so Lúcio made himself at home on the floor. 

“So. About your problem. Your blackmailer is an idiot named Jakob Daniels. He lives in South Africa, he’s twenty-nine, and yes, he rents his mother’s basement. I wiped every piece of tech he’s touched in the last six months, and I made sure to send a message politely suggesting that the next time he fucks with someone, he should make sure they are not under my protection.” 

“Wait, so, it’s just… done?” Lúcio couldn’t wrap his head around it.

She raised one notched eyebrow. “What, like it was gonna be hard?”

“I thought… you made us come in person.” 

“Oh. Yeah, I didn’t think Overwatch would appreciate our communications. And you needed this.” She swung around in her chair, plucked something off the desk, then turned again and pitched the thumb drive softly to Lúcio. “You should put your naughty videos there, then hide it in your sock drawer or something like a normal person. Don’t save that shit to a cloud.” She shrugged. “And I wanted to meet Baptiste’s boyfriends. We’re going to play a drinking game later.” 

“Did you, uh.” Lúcio coughed. “Did you watch them?”

She wrinkled her nose at that. “Hell no. That’s why I just wiped all his stuff. No need to go looking for naked men.”

Genji laughed at his side. Which was nice, really, since Genji deserved to feel relieved, but Lúcio could only focus on the remaining problem: “If you didn’t look, how do you know you got everything?” 

Her eyebrow ticked again. “Believe me. I know.” Her voice had an edge to it. Maybe she took it as a challenge to her skills, which wasn’t really how he’d meant it.

Baptiste, ever the peacemaker, held up his hands as if to show he meant no harm. “He’s just worried. It's been a stressful week, and I didn’t tell them who you are.” 

Her mouth twisted at that, but it pacified her. “Fine. Come on. Let’s get drunk. Then you’ll have an excuse when you put your foot in your mouth again.”

* * *

Lúcio sputtered, hiding his mouth behind his hand. The beer she had shared was only okay, but the tequila was really, really good, and probably kind of pricey, and he really didn’t need to let her see any dribbling out with his surprise. His eyes still watered from the most recent shot. “Wait wait wait wait wait,” he coughed when he had recovered enough. “Sombra? Like _the_ Sombra? Aren’t you a— a—” He snapped his fingers searching for the word. “Collective! You’re people, not a person!”

She cackled, then she reached out to pat him on the cheek. A _you poor, sweet baby_ gesture if he’d ever seen one. “There’s a collective, and then there’s me. Mostly me. I’m Sombra.”

“That,” he pronounced, the _t_ snapping sharply in his mouth, “made no fucking sense.” 

“I believe she means she’s the brains of the operation, but that she sometimes has people who work for her, or perhaps that it benefits her for others to _assume_ there’s more than one person,” Genji said far too logically. Silly cyborg with his silly metabolism. He wasn’t nearly as drunk as the rest of them. 

Baptiste giggled, leaning heavily against Genji and curled around a stuffed bear, which looked very tiny in his big arms. “See? A better hacker. The best! I win.”

“You win _what?”_ Lúcio demanded. 

“Oh.” Baptiste had clearly forgotten what the hell he was talking about the moment it had left his mouth. “Good boyfriend award?”

Everyone stared, no one quite sure how to respond. Lúcio would very much like to assure him that he was a very, very good boyfriend, but that usually turned R-rated really fast, and Sombra was right there. Genji picked up the slack. “Yes. Of course. You win.” He squeezed his arm around Baptiste’s shoulders, then he glanced at Lúcio and Sombra with a subtle shrug. 

Sombra snorted at all of it, then she poured only three shots instead of four. Baptiste clearly didn’t need more. “Okay okay, it’s your turn.” She gestured at Genji with one of the shot glasses, somehow managing not to spill anything in the process. 

Genji tilted his head to think, one of the funny tics he’d picked up over the years of trying to exhibit recognizable human emotions while wearing a mask. It was off now, which made the gesture that much more unnecessary. “I once did so much cocaine I was awake for three days. My name means ‘dancing dragon’. I can sing three whole songs in French.”

Sombra rolled her eyes. “The name.”

 _“Definitely_ the name,” Lúcio laughed. 

Baptiste did not bother opening his eyes as he mumbled, “The name. How are you such a bad liar?”

“Yeah, weren’t you yakuza?” Sombra asked. 

Genji took his shot with sportsmanlike grace, then he looked at her suspiciously while she refilled his glass. “I was,” he said slowly. “But I am not sure how _you_ knew that.”

Her cheeks ballooned outward before she swallowed her own shot, despite that the rules they’d established said she didn’t have to drink. Then she pointed to herself. “Sombra.” Honestly, it _was_ a pretty solid explanation. 

“I didn’t know about the French thing, though!” Lúcio said. 

Genji grinned. “In school, I had to pick a language to learn, and there was a girl I wanted to impress with it. I only remember the songs though.”

“Are you a good singer?” Sombra asked. 

“Save the answer for your next obvious lie,” Baptiste said with a giggle. Genji looked very unimpressed. 

“No, no, but I want to hear your French song. I have a— a friend who would love it.”

“Is this friend a _girl?”_ Baptiste asked, one eye finally peeking open again. 

“Shut up.” 

He laughed, big and loud, then shoved himself back up into a normal sitting position. “Do you have a _girlfriend?”_ he sing-songed. 

“Oh my god, you’re never coming over again.” 

Lúcio had, many times in his life, seen two grown adults regress rapidly into bickering children — he got that way at home with his siblings and cousins, and Genji did it sometimes, on the rare occasion when he and his brother were operating anything remotely like normal people — but he’d never seen Baptiste do it, nor had he expected to learn that the Sombra Collective was only this single, scary woman, only to immediately see her turn into a blushing mess. It was _fascinating._

“Ooh, you _like_ her,” Baptiste laughed, and Sombra squirmed with discomfort. 

“She’s hot. And not awful to be around.”

“You _love_ her.” Sombra turned silently sullen after that, enough so that Baptiste decided to have mercy. He cleared his throat. “Well. If you like her, I wanna meet her. Maybe without an emergency to make it happen, though.”

“Fine. Maybe.”

Baptiste hid a smile by ducking his head. She probably didn’t see it, scowling off to the side as she was, but Lúcio definitely did. The awkward silence went on too long, and Lúcio started to feel bad about it, especially since she’d done him such a big favor and they were her guests, so he broke it with: “I have definitely never tried cocaine. I modded my first deck when I was ten. Horses scare the shit outta me.” 

Everyone stared at him. Sombra squinted, clearly annoyed not to know the answer immediately. 

“The… horses?” Genji tried. 

“It’s too weird. Horses,” Baptiste said with a sage nod that might have just been his head feeling too heavy. 

“Who even thinks of that if it’s not true? I bet you’ve tried most drugs at least once, just to try.” Sombra didn’t sound nearly as certain as she probably wanted to. 

“No. I was twelve when I customized my first deck.”

“What? That’s so nitpicky,” Sombra complained. 

“Hey, it’s been mentioned in like four different articles. You totally had a chance to guess right.” Lúcio grinned, wide and smug. “Drink up, all of you!”

All three groaned, with varying degrees of amusement, but they did as they were told. Sombra filled Baptiste’s shot glass with water, though, and he didn’t seem to notice.

* * *

Lúcio woke sometime embarrassingly close to noon with a headache that made him wonder if death might be preferable. Genji of course was already awake, briefly staring at some game on his phone. Baptiste was still out cold, a warm mountain between Lúcio and Genji. 

They were on Sombra’s bare mattress, and she was nowhere to be found. 

“How bad is it?” Genji asked quietly. It was probably intended to be sweet, but at present, Lúcio could only resent that Genji didn’t get hangovers and couldn’t possibly know his suffering. “That bad, huh?” Genji smirked. He leaned across Baptiste to kiss Lúcio’s temple, which he supposed was sweet enough to merit not snapping at him. 

Genji excused himself shortly after, pulling on an oversized hoodie. It was the one he liked on the rare occasion he dared to go out in public without his mask. He left Lúcio to suffer alone just like he wanted. By the time Genji returned, having braved the outside world without his mask just for Lúcio, and carrying takeout cups that smelled like espresso and cinnamon, Lúcio was ready to forgive him for the crime of resisting hangovers. 

Baptiste stirred at the sound of them milling around, or more likely at the sound of Genji digging through the paper bag he’d gotten from the bakery he found. There were several sweet breads Lúcio had no name for, and all were tasty and equally suitable for soaking up the alcohol left in his body. Baptiste ate his from the bed, having moved only enough to put on sunglasses. 

Sombra, it seemed, wasn’t coming back any time soon. “She does that,” Baptiste said with a shrug. “Means she likes you though. I think. Left us alone with all her shit.”

Lúcio felt a lot more flattered than he probably should have, given who else Overwatch suspected the Sombra Collective worked with. But it was kind of badass, being on the good side of someone like that. Even if she was possibly the enemy — if not now, then maybe sometime in the near future. Anyway, it was flattering, and whatever else she was, she was Baptiste’s friend. Lúcio had been raised right, too. He left a polite thank you note for her, though he figured it was best not to actually sign his name. 

He did, however, manage to “lose” the thumb drive at the airport. Maybe taking tech he’d been given by a notorious hacker and maybe-possibly-enemy of Overwatch directly to the Watchpoint was not the smartest idea. He could heed her advice about keeping his business off the cloud, though, especially since _not_ recording boyfriends as hot as Genji and Baptiste was not an option. 


End file.
